


though dreamers often lie

by nanasalt



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I don't know what else to say, Making Out, Mutual Pining, This is trope noodle soup for the shipper soul, and I won't apologize
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 00:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasalt/pseuds/nanasalt
Summary: Gleb had told his superiors that Anya was a young actress before the revolution, only tangled in the Anastasia rumors because she attended an audition she had thought legitimate before she met an officer who saved her and fell in love with her and married her. It was believable, and it was almost completely a lie.





	though dreamers often lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pure Anon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Pure+Anon).



> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Someone had to write it.  
> EDIT: Now with added context [HERE](https://nanasalt.tumblr.com/post/178935848911/). It shouldn't be necessary, but if you want to more backstory, it's a quick overview.

Gleb knows Anya has dreams of her own, dreams she doesn’t share with him. She hadn’t fallen into the Anastasia con without reason, and he catches her in moments of wistfulness, looking out windows or speaking to people in the street while she works. It’s nothing concerning - Anya is too smart to throw away their safety for a half-baked dream - but Gleb can tell her mind is elsewhere.

After all, her dreams need not take her all the way to France for his presence to impede them; if they take her beyond Leningrad, then their marriage will be questioned.

He does not doubt that her dreams _will_ eventually take her beyond Leningrad. Anya is a bright, ambitious young woman, and he knows she didn’t dream of being a street sweeper married to an officer, when he can tell she hates his position. She won’t say it, because Anya is good at pretending even when they’re alone, but Gleb is equally good at reading people. It’s how he got the job that makes her tense and avoid contact.

Still, no matter their circumstances, he can’t help but dread the day her dreams lead her beyond the city. It will be harder to sleep without Anya’s comforting weight in his arms, hard to remember to make tea for only one and not pour the first cup while it’s still weak. It’ll be harder to to say goodbye when he has memories like these, tracing patterns over her skirt to until she swats his hand away and says ‘ _later_ ’ just loud enough - just warmly enough - to make the visiting officers shift in their seats and glance at the door.

It seems his comrades visit quite a lot, these days; the visits are always friendly and certainly not tinged with malice. It would be easy to mistake them for simple social calls if they didn’t last so long, if Gleb didn’t know what sort of questions the Cheka ask when they’re looking for some reason he might betray them with his suspect-turned-wife, any reason besides being foolhardy and in love.

That is why it is important to seem foolhardy and in love, and not like a young couple who only married to clear both their names. Anya knows her part almost too well, always follows up her whispered ‘ _later_ ’ with a hand on his cheek or in his hair or tracing across his wrist, and it’s all Gleb can do not to melt into it. Her hand is warm against his cheek and he could quite happily forget they’re playing pretend, if he let himself.

He had dreams before this as well, but they hadn’t verged far beyond Leningrad. His dreams had looked quite a lot like their fake reality, like turning his head to press a kiss to Anya’s palm and grinning when their guests tease that Madame Vaganova is blushing, that perhaps they should leave before the Vaganovs grow too bold.

It’s only the tea bringing warmth to her cheeks, but it’s enough for the purposes of their little ruse if she looks flustered.

It’s not too much longer before the officers do stand to go, laughing and joking that of course, the young couple want to be left alone. They kiss Anya and Gleb goodbye with true camaraderie and there is laughter and noise and promises to visit again. There is Gleb’s arm around Anya’s waist and his assurances that they would be delighted but perhaps the Vaganovs will do the visiting next time, so they can leave at their own convenience, and Anya gasps and shoves at him like he’s given away a secret. Gleb laughs and kisses her forehead quickly, reassuringly, and there are more laughs and joking kissing sounds and it is overwhelming before it is quiet again in their little apartment that is not safe yet.

They break apart after a moment and Anya locks the door while Gleb picks up the dishes; Anya pushes herself up to sit on the counter while Gleb sets plates in the sink and Anya watches him watch through the window as two officers pause on the other side of the street to glance back.

They are not safe, not just yet.

Anya nudges his hip with her knee and raises a brow. Gleb laughs like she has told a joke, which must mean there are still officers outside, because that is who they are: the serious young officer and his witty wife who makes him laugh. It’s too easy a role to slip into, and her lips curl into the smile she wore all evening until the door closed after the last officer.

They’re both excellent actors, now.

“They’re waiting,” he confirms, and she rolls her eyes in a way that doesn’t quite betray her nerves and certainly won’t be visible across the street. They’re not unfamiliar with the lingering officers, the not-quite-suspicious glances at the Vaganovs’ kitchen window; it’s why they leave the curtains open after visits like this. Their lives are a play that can’t end when the audience leaves.

“They’re always waiting for the truth,” she comments lightly, and Gleb laughs, steps closer to her subtly. It’s not quite an invitation, but Anya reaches out to drag him closer by the collar of his coat anyway. Her eyes sparkle like diamonds in the low evening light and Gleb tries not to think of how her eyes had looked the first time he saw them in the sun, because this is play-acting and not the real thing.

He had lied to his superiors and told them that she was a young actress before the revolution, only mentioned in the Anastasia rumors because she had attended an audition she thought legitimate, before she met an officer who saved her and fell in love with her. It’s believable, and wholly false; a fabricated story that never feels more real than these moments, because Anya _is_ a gifted actress. Gleb can almost believe the way she leans in to press a kiss to his lips, too slow by half, but with a teasing grin and a lingering anxiety in her eyes.

Perhaps the Anastasia con had called for acting practice, but Gleb can’t imagine why it would’ve called for _this_. Perhaps the way she slides a hand up his neck and tilts her head subtly to give him better access to her mouth is a natural acting talent. It feels real enough, if he can ignore the tension under both their skins, and it will look more than real enough to the officers across the street. He is less talented, far batter at kissing down her throat and making a show of pulling her closer without bringing her any closer at all while Anya tips her head back and laughs, carefully visible and always aware of herself.

It will be hard to forget small things like the taste of her skin or her laughter when this charade ends, hard to forget the warmth and camaraderie and soft kisses from his on-paper wife, forget that she meets him halfway when he moves up to kiss her again. She lets him, for a moment, her mouth moving almost-demanding against his and Gleb feels like his knees might give out when she drags her teeth over his lip, glances up at him from under her lashes. She almost smirks when she kisses the corner of his mouth after and whispers, “Are they gone?”

Reality asserts itself, after a dizzying moment; there are officers outside, or there were, and Anya’s eyes are searching his but it would be very easy to lie and say he can’t tell, say they should continue. She might not even mind if he did, but she’s waiting for his response. She trusts him. Gleb kisses her cheek and glances out the window in the same motion, looks for the olive coats against the snow. The officers are stomping their feet and laughing and will be gone soon, because it is late and cold and they do not want to investigate their comrade’s pretty wife and domestic bliss more than they have to.

“Almost,” he allows, and Anya lets out a breath, nods, drags him back for another kiss. It’s long and lingering and he has almost forgotten the officers outside because Anya has slid an arm over his shoulders to pull him closer. His knees have hit the cabinet beneath her and Anya’s breath is warm against his cheek, and it might be too convincing. Gleb pulls back and tries to remember to breathe before Anya chases him with a quiet, wordless reprimand, a reminder there might be someone watching. He doesn’t complain, and she doesn’t put up any resistance when he catches her broken breath in another kiss, his mouth moving against hers like he can memorize it. She’s the one who shifts even closer, real and warm and her knees bracket his hips in the small kitchen. It feels faintly surreal when they draw back only enough that their foreheads touch, that their noses nearly bump together.

He could kiss her again, Gleb knows, and glances out the window without conscious thought.

“We’re safe,” he declares abruptly, because the olive coats are gone from the snow outside, have rounded the corner, and the charade can end now. Anya makes a soft sound of agreement, her breath fanning against his skin, and Gleb wonders again what she dreams of, because it can’t have included this, _but if it did_ – but it doesn’t, because she taps his chest and slides into the space left when he steps back, straining up a little to stretch her back.

“Another successful night of theater, comrade,” she says airily, and Gleb must be imagining the breathlessness in her voice, must be projecting his own shaken psyche onto hers.

“I had no doubt we’d pull it off,” he says lightly, and hopes the heartache doesn’t bleed through when he tries to smile.  “And if this doesn’t work–” They’ll both be shot. “– at least we’ll have theater to fall back on.” He grins and hopes it doesn’t look too shaken.

“ _Actors?_ ” Anya asks, in mock-horror, and presses a hand over her heart, shielded by the thin blouse he had managed to requisition for her from the women officer’s supplies. She had refused any purchased clothes, insisted this was temporary, and now she reaches out to take up her discarded cup of tea and sip it. It makes something in him unknot; she does not drink anything around company, unless it is to put them at ease. He leans his hip against the counter next to her, and waits until Anya grins impishly and adds, “Don’t flatter our skills, _comrade_. We’d starve if we didn’t freeze in the Russian winter.”

“Maybe we’ll run off like the bolshoi ballet,” he says, and taps her nose before moving to fetch more dishes, remembers too late that the bolshoi ballet had gone to Paris the same way her conmen had wanted to take her. He knows Anya is frozen in the kitchen but he does not turn around, because the women of the bolshoi ballet had thrown everything Russia gave to him away and chose a new homeland and the scars of Anya’s attempted revolution are still fresh in both of them.

Gleb is quiet when he returns with new dishes to wash, quiet when he begins to clean them. Anya is still leaning against the counter, but her eyes are closed and the teacup is pressed against her lips like she is trying to forget the feeling of his mouth on hers, like she is also thinking of their playacting earlier but without the urge for a repeat performance.

Anya deserves better than a legal husband who craves more, Anya deserves someone she can share her dreams with, and Anya deserves better than Gleb.

He does not let the thought of _better_ haunt him when she comes to stand beside him and dry the dishes. This is what they have, and he will have to make his peace with memories of her skin and smile and kisses when they part ways, but for now they can speak quietly and put away cups together.

It’s not what either of them dreamed of, but it is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if/when I'll add more to this AU, but I'm interested in continuing it. I want to at least touch on how hard Anya is pining as well, since this was Gleb-centric.
> 
> As ever, follow my tumblr for more updates and writing snippets at [vampyrekatwrites](http://vampyrekatwrites.tumblr.com/). If you want to see my more general fandom side, my Anastasia blog is at [nanasalt](http://nanasalt.tumblr.com/). Feel free to PM me or send asks! The interaction is what keeps me writing.


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